


the french mistake (except that it really wasn't a mistake)

by janie_tangerine



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Supernatural
Genre: (for SPN), ADWD spoilers, Alternate Universe - Crack, Board Games, Crack Crossover, Crack Treated Seriously, Crossover, Fourth Wall, Gen, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Rescue, Resurrection, Season/Series 07 Spoilers, breaking every wall in existence, just go with the crack okay, well sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:29:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janie_tangerine/pseuds/janie_tangerine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>where post-S7 Castiel has very clear ideas about what he should do with his life. It includes helping out characters from other fandoms who really need a break. Theon happens to be the first on the list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the french mistake (except that it really wasn't a mistake)

**Author's Note:**

> other [Theon appreciation week](http://rhymeswithloveweek.tumblr.com) contribution! ... okay, apparently I decided it's 'let's give this guy a break' appreciation week since it's all I'm posting lately ~~and I'm nowhere near done yet~~ , but whatever. Anyway, this is another thing I had started ages ago and finished up for the occasion - basically at some point me and a friend were discussing how horrible Theon's ADWD stuff was and I went like 'you know what Castiel should just go and rescue him in the name of decency also because he could totally fix him up in ten seconds' and this happened. Also I got the idea before S8 started (see how long it takes me to finish stuff), so just disregard everything that happened from the S7 finale onwards re SPN (assume that Cas is still end-of-S7-sort-of-compliant characterization). ASOIAF speaking, this is supposed to be set before Theon's first pov in ADWD and after the piece of skin delivery in ASOS. It gets sort of angsty at points (especially at the beginning) but really, this is pretty much me writing crack and using a hammer to break down any fourth wall in existence and having an excuse to get Theon to show that he'd be good at Monopoly after getting a decent number of cupcakes thrown his way, don't mind me. Nothing in here belongs to me except for the crack.

He _knows_ he’s gone crazy for real the moment a man wearing the strangest clothes Th – Reek’s ever seen shows up out of thin air in the midst of his small, stinking cell.

There’s a moment of silence, and Th – no, no, it’s _Reek_ , he has to remember it – hears a rat walking somewhere. He feels a pang of hunger to his stomach.

He hopes he isn’t that desperate yet. Not that it’s the problem. The problem is this guy wearing – what is that even, some kind of soft white breeches and shirt that are cut in a way he’s never seen once in his life among with this – this cloak-like light brown thing on his shoulders. Along with bare feet. And who’s also staring down at him with the bluest eyes he’s ever seen in his life (almost as blue as – no, he can’t think about him, he shouldn’t, he can’t). And who seems – disgusted? But not with him. Mostly with his surroundings.

“Theon Greyjoy?” the man asks, with the deepest voice he’s ever heard – it’s low, and he thinks it could easily turn scary if it just didn’t sound surprised.

He flinches.

“Don’t call me like that,” he whispers. “Don’t – I don’t know who you are, I don’t know if you’re even real, but – don’t, I have to forget, I have to –”

“Is that your name?” the man interrupts. He knows he’s flinching again as he looks up again – somehow he can’t resist. It’s the way the man’s phrasing it. He sounds – almost as if he gets what kind of deal that question is. And – he has such clear eyes, and they’re not judgmental at all, and –

“It used to be,” he answers before he can stop himself. “But I can’t –”

“I know about that.”

“You… know?"

“About that and a lot of other things. And I thought I had it bad.”

“You – had it bad? I don’t – I’m not following.”

He expects a slap to the face.

He really does.

Instead, he gets the man sitting down cross-legged in the midst of the filth covering the floor as if it matters nothing. Then the man shrugs. “Apologies. I should have introduced myself before jumping to conclusions. But as you _don’t_ know, I haven’t had a stellar time lately. Not as bad as you, obviously. From what I see, at least. Oh, I’m digressing again.”

“Just – just lower your voice, he’ll _hear_ you, please don’t –”

“Don’t concern yourself. No one can do anything to me. Or to you, as things are right now.”

“… why?”

“All in good time. So, I was saying – right. My name is Castiel. But you may call me Cas if you wish – I go by that these days, mostly. At this point I should probably tell you that I’m an angel of the Lord, but that would mean nothing to you, I suspect. This world has different deities. And I don’t think it includes angels in that system. Oh, well, variety is what makes existence worth living, I suppose.”

“What – what does that mean? That you’re… an… angel?”

“A lot of things. I can travel through time, for instance. Or worlds. Which is why I am here – I will get to that in a second. Once I also used to be a soldier, but I believe I’m retired from that certain field. I had my fill, as a friend of mine would put it. So, I was saying – right. I suppose you will want some proof that you are not… hallucinating, would you?”

He’s too dumbfounded to do anything but nod.

“Very well.”

The man – angel – _Castiel_ then raises a hand and touches the ground.

Theon has to blink ten times before coming to terms with the fact that his cell is now sparkly clean. There isn’t a piece of dirt left on the floor.

“How – how –”

“Angel of the Lord. Told you. My Father wasn’t a very good one, and I suppose you know what I mean with that, but at least this kind of trick can turn to be very useful. So, I suppose you should also know why I’m here.”

Theon gives him another tiny nod.

“I don’t think you’re familiar with the concept of _fandom_.”

Theon shakes his head. He’s never heard that word before.

“What I thought. Well, I will try to make it easy enough to grasp. See, I come from a different world from yours. Which I suppose you might have understood already. Along with the point that more than one world exists. I won’t go and bore you with the technical aspect – it’s fascinating but you don’t look like you’d be interested in that kind of thing – and I will tell you that sometimes things happen and what happens to us – you or me – ends up in another world’s books. In your case, at least. In mine – no, I don’t think you would be familiar with the concept of television. Let’s just stick to books.”

“You mean that – there’s someone who wrote a story about… about me?”

“About what’s happening to you right now. And what happened to your friends and family and people on some other part of this world, but that’s not the issue. The issue is that people read those books. And discuss them. They have their favorite characters and so on. Now, my case is – well. I happen to have a decently huge number of people liking me, but a lot of others don’t.”

“Why – why’s that?” Theon isn’t sure that he’s following at all, and this conversation is just completely insane, but it’s still better than – than – thinking about where he is. Or pondering on how crazy he must be getting for imagining all this.

“Because in the books I’m in, I came in late. The two protagonists had been well-established and a lot of fans did not appreciate someone else changing the status of things. I find it quite stupid, to be frank, especially since I’m friends with both of them, but what can you do about it. That stated, I have another small army of people hating my guts, as my friend Dean would put it. And well, he’d also say that it sucks ass. I find it an appropriate metaphor. Now, it’s time we get to you.”

Castiel takes a breath and looks up at him again. “So, things happened lately, and I won’t bore you with that either – complicated story. But as it is, I decided that I needed a vacation. I have existed for millennia and I have never had one – can you believe it? My friends did, too, which is why they’re at the Grand Canyon right now – sorry, you never heard of it. Back on track. Excuse me again, I am also working through some issues of my own. So I decided that since having readers or fans hating you… sucks ass, I should just take a look at the general statistics for any fandom that ever was – another useful trick, I might say – and then I might try to help someone in worse conditions than me. Assuming that they didn’t deserve it, obviously.”

“You mean – me?” The idea of someone wanting to _help_ him is ludicrous. Just. Ludicrous. Especially if they aren’t real. (This can’t be real. It can’t. It just doesn’t happen. Not even in the songs Sansa used to like.)

“Exactly. Not counting people who deserve to be disliked for real reasons, after assessing your situation, I decided that it was completely unacceptable.”

“Why, your… fandom hates me?”

Castiel snorts, slightly, as if it’s some kind of thing that he doesn’t do much. Or at all. “Your fandom… hates your guts, as Dean would put it. I’ll admit, that stunt you pulled at Winterfell wasn’t exactly genius, but the reaction to it? That has to be the most ridiculous exaggeration I have ever ran into. The frankly disturbing part is that – well, the books went a bit farther than now – the point we’re in. Most people who haven’t gotten that far wish on you pretty much all the things that did happen to you.”

Theon thinks he wants to throw up. Now he’s imagining a strange man telling him that a decently high number of people he wouldn’t even _know_ hates him as well?

“Don’t worry,” Castiel keeps on, “some people do like you a lot as well, but others who know what happened to you still… well, hate your guts. More than mostly everyone else in your specific fandom. Which is, in my opinion, mind-boggling. Especially because I have first-hand experience of what it means to have a crappy father and to be put in a position where you have to betray your best friend.”

Now he’s also imagining the strange man as being sympathetic?

He’s really losing his wits. As if. It had to happen at some point.

“Long story short, I decided that you, as absolutely not deserving of that amount of fandom hatred, and not deserving of what’s happening to you here as well –”

“What? You can’t believe that I don’t –”

“Oh, don’t. You deserved a trial and – according to your laws – probably a sword to your neck, not _that_ disgusting excuse for a human being that makes me almost miss my brother Raphael. And you don’t even want to know what kind of person he was. But enough about that. As, the way I see it, the world has definitely been unfair to you, I decided that I should drop here and see to do some good.”

“Wait. You mean – you can’t mean –” His heartbeat rate has doubled. And the places where his fingers used to be are throbbing, and his stomach feels so very empty and he doubts he could even stand on his feet, and this can’t be –

“I mean that the moment you say it, I can transport you somewhere else. And then we can worry about the rest. Which will be a lot to worry about, looking at you, but as stated I’m on a vacation. I have time.”

Theon doesn’t think he grasps this concept of _vacation_ , but that’s not the point.

The point is another.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I think I didn’t – you just said you could – bring me somewhere else? How?”

“That’s another of the advantages of being an angel. I would do that the same way I came in, of course.”

Right. Out of thin air. This is insane, this can’t be happening, and why would someone even waste time with him, and if it’s all unreal and then Ramsay finds him talking to himself about escaping –

“Why?” he croaks, aware that his eyelids are burning – the ground under him does feel clean.

“I told you,” Castiel answers with a small, sincere smile on his lips and gods no one has smiled at him like that in years, “you don’t deserve any of this. But I need you to ask me. I’m done doing things against anyone’s will or without being sure of what they will think of it after.”

He should say no. Other than this entire conversation probably being a dream or something like that, there’s no way that it comes for free. This man – angel – whatever it is, if he’s real – well, he’ll want something in return. That’s how it is – there’s just no way that he would find any freedom just like that. And he has no idea of what awaits him, and maybe –

Then he hears steps coming from the stairs leading to the hallway leading to his cell and he’d recognize that rhythm everywhere. And then that voice shouts _that other name_ and – no. Nothing is worse than this. Nothing.

“ _Please_ ,” he sobs. “Please do it, I don’t care about the rest, just pleaseplease _please_ –”

“There is no need to say it twice,” Castiel replies, and then one hand is touching his forehead and –

He opens his eyes.

He’s on the outside.

Then he closes them again because the sunlight hurts, and how long has it been since he even stepped foot in the open? He feels grass under his hands and feet, and he’s breathing fresh air.

He breathes in once, twice, and then he slowly tries to open his eyes again. This time it goes better. The Dreadfort is still in sight, but it’s a good thirty minutes from where they are – under a tree somewhere in the distance, Theon figures. Castiel is still sitting cross-legged in front of him, shaking his head as if he’s thoroughly disappointed with the general state of things.

“I hadn’t realized that you were this bad off,” he mouths. “Well, I knew that because I read it, but in the open you look even worse. Then again, it’s not an issue.”

“It’s… not?” Theon replies, his voice barely audible.

“Nothing that cannot be fixed,” Castiel replies, and then he reaches out and touches his temple.

There are a couple of seconds during which Theon feels some kind of strange warmth seep through him – muscles, bones, veins – and then it’s gone, and he looks down at his left hand and –

He almost screams out loud when he sees that it isn’t lacking two fingers anymore. He looks at the right – it’s whole again. His feet are whole as well, and when he looks down at his chest through the remains of his ripped shirt, he sees that there’s no newly growing skin. And he isn’t feeling pain anywhere. Not to mention that his teeth are all there again – there aren’t any holes between them anymore.

He reaches up with shaking hands, takes a handful of his hair between his fingers and looks at it. It’s dark.

“How – how –” he starts, unable to even form a complete sentence.

“Now you know the full extent of what I can do. And I wasn’t going to do this halfway – leaving you like that would have been a crime against humanity.” Theon has no idea of what he means with _crime against humanity_ , but he gets the gist well enough.

Then Castiel turns again towards the Dreadfort, looking at it with uttermost disgust in his eyes. “These people are making me almost miss the Apocalypse. Oh, by the way, is there someone in that castle that you particularly care about?”

Theon gives him a shake of the head – he can’t process this. At all.

“Good. I suppose it’s time to go Old Testament on these people. Sometimes the Sodom and Gomorrah approach is needed.”

Three seconds later, the entire castle starts shaking and crumbling on itself as if it was made of wooden sticks, and a minute later it’s just a pile of fallen stones. It looks as if some army completely ravaged it from the inside.

Theon slowly turns back towards Castiel. “You – you did that.”

“It’s not the kind of gesture I am too fond of, but sometimes you have to do it. I’ve never seen such an amount of despicable people in the same place.”

Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

_And both Boltons were in there._

_And it means you’re free._

He doesn’t even think before he falls to his knees. It’s also exhaustion – he doesn’t think he could have stood up much longer, but he doesn’t know how else he’s supposed to act, not when it’s all he has done for months by now. Whatever is asked of him now, it can’t be anywhere as bad as what had happened already.

“You don’t need to do that.”

The string of _thank you_ s that was leaving his mouth stops at once. “What? I don’t…?”

Castiel drops cross-legged on the ground again, and Theon can’t help noticing that his feet are clean. “I had my share of kneeling already. It was nowhere as pleasing as it’s advertised, and it brought me more hassle than else. Hassle being an understatement of large proportions. I told you, there is no catch.”

“… catch?”

Castiel shrugs. “I _did_ tell Dean that insisting on using his expressions wouldn’t gain me anything in the long run. Apologies. I merely meant that you don’t have to repay me. Or do anything of the sort. And I can read what you’re thinking – do not even go towards sexual favors.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much else I could offer you,” he replies, and he marvels at how bitter he’s sounding.

“You already forgot the part where I told you that there is no need for repaying. And that stated, you need to wear something else. Those rags won’t do.”

“They won’t – but then why –”

He doesn’t have time to finish the sentence – a second later some folded clothes, same as the ones Castiel’s wearing or so it seems, appear in his hands out of nowhere.

“I can attest that they are comfortable,” Castiel says at that.

Theon isn’t sure that he has ever seen breeches that don’t need lacing up, or a shirt cut like that, but it’s still better than the sorry excuse for clothes that he’s wearing. Castiel turns his back on him and he’s strangely touched by the action – he isn’t sure he remembers the last time someone didn’t –

He needs to stop thinking about that. He puts on the clothes – weird, still, but Castiel wasn’t wrong when saying that they are comfortable. The cloth is soft and at least he doesn’t feel half-naked anymore. Which is good enough in itself – it’s making him feel somewhat more in control already.

“Excellent,” Castiel comments when he’s done. “Now, I suppose it’s time I move on to phase two.”

“Phase?” Theon wishes he understood half of what Castiel is saying – he still can’t help feeling like he’ll get a punch to his mouth for it at some point.

“Oh, don’t mind me. It’s all Dean’s fault – his rather stupid speech pattern has rubbed off on me after all. Then again, the equivalent of ten years stuck together will do that to someone. If you had met me some five years ago, you wouldn’t have had this issue. I meant, I didn’t come here without a plan. What just happened was the first part of it.”

“And what happens during the second?”

“Well, do you think that I would have gone through all this work of freeing you and putting you back on your feet just to leave you standing here with clothes on that come from my specific world?”

Theon has no answer for that. He’s tempted to answer that it’s more than he had thought he’d ever have, so it would be perfectly acceptable if Castiel left just like that, but obviously he understood that part wrong.

“So – are we going somewhere?”

“Obviously. I am trying to locate some place here in your world to avoid inter-dimensional traveling, which might be even more confusing for you, but I’m afraid it might be a problem. I mean a safe place. I think your world lacks that kind of thing.”

Theon would like to answer that it’s the story of his life – he’s never lived in a safe place unless it was Robb’s side and everyone knows how that went – but Castiel sends him a look that is all kinds of _sorry_ and he knows that Castiel somehow knows.

“Seriously,” Castiel mutters, “I suppose I should be lucky that I wasn’t sent on Earth during the Middle Ages. This place is just dreadful. Well then, I suppose you might stand a bit of stomachache.”

And then Castiel touches his shoulder again and –

It’s all kinds of _strange_. For a split second he feels as if something’s turning him inside out, and he does want to throw up, but then it’s over and when he opens his eyes he finds himself in – _what kind of place is this?_ The floor is made of wood, the furniture is shaped strangely and it’s full of books everywhere, except that most of them aren’t the kind of books he’s used to. Not to mention weird images attached to the wall that aren’t paintings but for which he has no words whatsoever.

“What – what’s this?”

“I told you about the two people I’m friends with, right?”

“The ones that your… fandom generally likes better than you?” Better go along with it. It’s an excuse not to stop and think.

“Exactly. That part of fandom doesn’t appreciate that all three of us are sharing a house now, since they decided that they were done with spending their lives in – in what you’d call inns, I suppose, and I needed some time off. Yes, I definitely did. It works for all of us. But as stated, the two of them are on vacation, too, so there’s no one but you and me here. Which can only be a good thing – I have this feeling that you wouldn’t be up for that. Anyway, sorry, I’ve gone off a tangent. Again. So, we were saying, phase two. Please have a seat.”

Theon goes for the first chair he sees, but then it suddenly disappears from his sight.

“I mean, a comfortable seat.” Castiel eyes some kind of couch covered with cushions and Theon cautiously follows the advice. The moment he sits down on it he almost moans – it’s so soft, he could weep after months of dirty floors (or worst, the ground).

“Better. I suppose I should make myself comfortable, as well. Oh, and of course, you must be starving.”

The moment Castiel says it, his stomach rumbles loud enough to deliver the point. Right. He might have most of his muscles and weight back, but that hasn’t erased the fact that he hasn’t eaten anything substantial in… probably a week. Days, for sure.

“Sorry, I –”

“Stop apologizing. I think I have something suited. Except that I’m not sure that you should have it raw.”

“Raw?”

Castiel goes to some cupboard in the corner and produces what looks like a jar of honey. “I brewed it myself,” he says proudly. “And I suppose it would do you a lot of good – nutritive properties and such – but considering how you looked in that dungeon, you should probably have it with something else. Well then, wait a minute?”

Then he disappears into thin air all over again and Theon just stands still. He doesn’t dare moving, not in this weird place that looks weirder with every passing second. And then Castiel shows up out of thin air again. He took off that cloak-like thing and he has some kind of tray in his hands. But then he apparently thinks better of just handing it over – a small table appears out of thin air all over again. A strange white table made of something that Theon can’t name either – it’s definitely not wood. Castiel does look satisfied though. He puts the tray over it. There’s some kind of weirdly shaped bread on it, with said honey spread over it, and a mug of something that looks suspiciously like moon tea but that has to be a different kind. Giving him moon tea would be ridiculous.

“You should eat it,” Castiel says after a handful of seconds. “Staring is not necessary.”

“Are you sure that –”

Castiel sends him a glare that obviously means _if you try to say that you don’t deserve it I’m going to do something neither of us would like_.

Theon swallows and takes a sip of the not-moon tea.

It’s nice. He has no idea what’s in it, except probably the honey (he can taste it), but it’s good, and warm, not enough to burn. The second sip is a lot larger. The third sip is the last one.

“I suppose you might want a refill,” Castiel says, looking quite smugly.

“Please?” he asks, still feeling not entirely in control of the situation.

Castiel disappears with the mug and comes back with a refill in a blink.

Theon takes it wordlessly and drinks the entire thing all over again, and gods if it doesn’t make him feel at least slightly better.

Then he remembers that there was food, as well. He grabs the weirdly shaped bread and bites down on it, a small one, and just the fact that he’s using all of his teeth to do it is making him feel as if he’s dreaming this. And – it’s better than he’d have even imagined. He hasn’t had proper food in a while, it’s not as if he’s been eating more refined things than stale bread, and this is not good, it’s – it’s delicious. The bread might be weirdly shaped but it’s still bread, and it’s soft inside and slightly crunchy outside – no idea of how someone even could make it so, but this other world obviously is an entire different thing from his. The honey is as warm as the bread, and it tastes just right – fine, maybe the judgment also relies on the fact that he hasn’t eaten anything like this in months, but that doesn’t change it. And being able to actually eat without pain doesn’t exactly remind him of manners. Before he knows, he’s finished both pieces of the weird bread, and his stomach still feels empty.

“Uh. Do you – do you think there’s more of that?” he asks, unable to look up at his host.

“Oh, you liked it?”

“It was delicious.” He isn’t lying – it was.

“Excellent!” Castiel sounds absolutely delighted with that response. “Finally someone giving me some satisfaction. Whenever I try to offer that around no one seems to appreciate.”

“That – why would they?” Theon asks, unable to stop himself. He doesn’t get why someone would ever refuse such food. Regardless of having been starved for a long while.

“I wish I knew,” Castiel sighs regretfully. “But you asked for more and I’m still here – seriously, where is even my head? Wait a minute.”

Then he’s gone off into thin air again. Theon doesn’t want to think about why he’s almost getting adjusted to it. Castiel takes a bit more than a minute, but when he’s back he has some five slices of that delicious bread, more tea and a thing that looks like a lemoncake but that is not. Lemoncakes don’t have some kind of yellow, fluffy cover.

“Oh, that’s a lemon cupcake. I got it at some nice place in Scotland – that’s why it took me a bit more. I’d suggest leaving it for last.”

Theon has no idea of where is Scotland or of what a cupcake is, but he follows the advice. He drinks the tea all over again, he eats the bread (less quickly than before) and then he bites down on the cupcake, and he decides that at least this supposed other world doesn’t lack in good food.

“I’m thinking that you’d like another.”

Theon doesn’t even manage to answer that before Castiel disappears again and he’s back with a strange bag made of some kind of brown material.

Theon takes it and sees that there are another three cupcakes in there.

While he eats them, he decides that he’s not questioning his luck for now.

\--

After he’s done, he decides that he’s full for now. Or well, he could eat more but he doesn’t want to overdo it.

“If you want more later just ask,” Castiel says before touching the table with all contents on it. It disappears into thin air – no news by now.

“Well, thanks. But I’m fine for now.” Fine is probably overdoing it – the moment he finally takes the time to think about things –

“I knew you were going to go there.” Damn. The guy does really read your mind. “Which is, if you ask me, a bad idea right now.”

“A what?”

“We can worry about your life failures later. For now, I think you need a distraction. Or two. Or three, but I think I have a nice solution to that.”

“… and what would that be?”

Castiel snaps his fingers and (obviously out of thin air) produces some kind of strange white box. With a weird shape drawn on it.

And something written over it.

“ _Monopoly_? What – what is that even?”

“An interesting product of human society,” Castiel replies as he opens the box and starts fiddling around with some kind of board that looks somewhat like a war map but is obviously not, and with strange pieces of colored paper. “And it works for extremely long games. I can assure you that it will make you stop thinking about everything else.”

Theon swallows and figures that giving this thing a try can’t do much harm.

\--

“So – wait a moment, I have to build houses when I have the card with the name of the road? And after the houses I can build _inns_?”

“Of course. Then you have to hope that I land on your roads so that you can make more money. Gold. However you want to put it.”

Well, that’s not too hard to grasp. The point of this thing is gaining money. Sounds easy. It’s all the rest that is confusing.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I get – what’s this railway station thing? And the… electrical central? Water central?”

“Right,” Castiel says. “I had forgotten where you come from. Ah, well, let’s see. Railway stations are… well, see, in this world there aren’t carriages anymore. There are… other things in their place. Let’s say that a railway station is a place from where people can take carriages without horses that bring them someplace else in half of the time.”

“Really? That – that sounds queer. How do you have a carriage without a horse?”

“It’s complicated, but trust me. It can be done. About the water and electricity… oh well, I suppose I should just give you a practical example.”

A second later, all of the windows are shut and the room is dark, and then a light appears on the ceiling. It’s some kind of lamp, but it’s not an oil one, and then it keeps on turning on and dying whenever Castiel snaps his fingers.

“That’s electricity,” he supplies.

A moment later, the windows are all open again.

“Look at the right corner in front of you.”

Where there’s some kind of sink, Theon notices. A second later, water begins pouring freely from it.

“That’s running water. The centrals are the places from where both those things leave in order to get here.”

“Wow. All right. I suppose I get it.”

“Excellent. Shall we start then?”

“… Sure. So I have to throw the dice?”

“That’s the spirit.”

\--

When Theon draws his first chance card, he’s one card short of owning all the blue streets and the red ones. Castiel is one card short of owning the purple ones, which apparently is a bad thing, considering how expensive they are. He was hoping to land on one of his missing streets.

He grabs the card and can’t help feeling utterly baffled as he reads it. “ _You come second in a beauty contest – retire five hundred dollars from the bank_. What in the seven hells is a beauty contest?”

Castiel looks like someone who’s about to start laughing like a maniac. But then he doesn’t. “It’s… basically, a number of women or men gather in one place in front of a jury and they decide who’s the most beautiful. If it’s broadcast, the audience might weight in as well, but I’m afraid I lost you there.”

“That’s completely stupid,” Theon mutters. “You can’t just judge that. And why would I get in second anyway?”

“Because whoever created this game doesn’t want the bank to go bankrupt. Here, get your money.”

Theon grabs one of the orange pieces of paper that Castiel hands him and keeps on thinking that it doesn’t make any fucking sense.

Well, at least Castiel ends up on one of those railway stations, which Theon is currently owning, and after that he finally manages to land on the last red road he was missing.

This stupid game is more addictive than he had thought. He wonders if they might have solved that stupid war playing this instead of fighting. Then he also has to admit that Robb probably wouldn’t have won that, since from what he gather you have to be some kind of ruthless, heartless person in order to win this entire thing, but he forbids himself to think about that further and tells Castiel that he’ll buy a couple of houses and one inn.

\--

Three hours later, Theon is cursing the moment Castiel ever managed to build inns on the purple roads. It’s sending him into fucking bankruptcy.

\--

Five hours later, neither of them is, in fact, bankrupt, but there’s no money in the bank vault anymore.

“You’re good at this,” Castiel notes as he snaps his fingers. The vault refills at once.

“If only we had this thing in Westeros,” Theon mutters as he buys out the second pink road. Not that he needed it, but it was cheap and it’s still money coming into his possession if he builds on it.

\--

Six hours later, Theon is starting to feel hungry all over again and neither of them is anywhere near declaring defeat.

“I think this is a tie,” Theon says, realizing that they used all the little wood-things that stand for both houses and inns.

“I have to agree with you,” Castiel says. “But you were a worthy opponent. No one usually survives it when I get my hands on the Boardwalk.”

“Next time you can buy all your precious railway stations, as well.”

“I should tell you that sharing your secrets isn’t usually a good way to play this game, but thanks for the advice nonetheless. And that said, I can feel that you’re starving again.”

He disappears again (obviously) and shows up with some kind of white bowls filled with something soft and light yellow.

“That’s ice cream. It’s extremely good for your health, especially when you’re starving. It’s also excellent for your mood. Now, I’m also told that eating it while watching romantic comedies makes wonders for your mood, but I’m afraid that if I showed you some random movie you’d break your head over things different than plot details.”

“… movie?” Theon asks as he grabs the spoon inside the bowl and eats this… ice cream thing. It’s good. Really good.

“Exactly what I thought. But maybe – oh, I think I have a solution.”

Which is how Theon ends up on the couch again, in front of this weird box thing that is apparently named television. Apparently, if you turn on this television you can see people in it. Apparently, people in some kind of field singing about how nice it is to take a break from being farmers – not that Theon is understanding what they’re saying, it’s some kind of weird language, but there’s some kind of translation written at the bottom of the box.

“And this is?” He has no idea what this thing is about, but at least he isn’t seeing horseless carriages, electricity, running water or anything. That’s stuff that could be seen in Westeros, even if farmers don’t dress with such nice clothes.

“Oh, this is opera. Another nice human invention. It’s actors, but they sing instead of just delivering lines. And I suppose that this one can be classified as romantic comedy.”

So: this guy who’s a farmer and (in Theon’s opinion) not that bright is hopelessly in love with the woman owning the farm he works for. He supposes that in this world women can own farms. Or maybe it’s some place like Dorne. The girl is kind of fickle, if you ask him, and refuses a perfectly heartfelt declaration. Theon thinks that she’s an idiot – you don’t refuse heartfelt declarations, he learned better than that. So the guy ends up asking for a love potion to this other man passing through the village, who’s obviously not a maester. Not that the not-maester tries to hide it.

“Did he seriously buy that?” he asks after his ice cream bowl refills automatically for the fourth time.

“He’s in love,” Castiel answers. Not that it really answers anything, but fine. He’ll go with it. To be honest, he thinks that the guy is in serious need of a reality check, but if it turns out good for him, all the better.

So it takes them two hours and a damned half to kiss – not that there was any doubt that they would, but when they do it’s actually kind of nice, and maybe the girl isn’t as fickle as he thought she was, and whatever the case is, it ends nicely for everyone except the soldier guy who wanted to marry the farm owner and whom Theon decided should have ended up on the Wall after three minutes of his singing (the first time). 

And well – it did make him feel moderately better. At least, he isn’t starving, that was some good food (again), and while he knows he isn’t getting that happy ending now or ever, at least seeing those two kiss for one minute while some audience somewhere clapped did something to brighten up his mood.

And nothing made him overtly confused.

“I suppose you might want to sleep it off,” Castiel says as the television-thing shuts itself off.

“I suppose,” he says. “Anywhere it’s fine. Just tell me –”

“Don’t even think about sleeping on the ground. Mh, I promised Dean I wouldn’t let anyone sleep in his bed, but Sam said no such thing. And he’s never going to know. Right, follow me.”

Theon follows Castiel upstairs to a medium-sized room with a not so moderately sized bed.

“My friend is quite tall,” Castiel supplies. “Anyway, the clothes you’re in, they’ll be comfortable also for sleeping. Just take the bed. If you need anything, just call out. I’ll hear you.”

Then he’s gone – as usual – and Theon decides not to overthink it, or he’s going to really lose it. He raises the covers and lays down, the mattress feeling like balm to his back after months of a cell in the Dreadfort, and the moment he closes his eyes, he’s out for a long while.

\--

The following morning he wakes up to the same bed and the same ceiling (it wasn’t a dream, it wasn’t) and when he drags himself to the lower floor, the table is littered in food. More of that bread, but he also sees honeycakes, the way they’re baked in the North, and more of those cupcakes things, and more tea.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Castiel says from one corner of the room, where he’s organizing books apparently in order of the covers’ color. “I thought I could look up a couple of recipes tonight. I don’t sleep, or at least I don’t really need to, so I had time. Please eat, I’ll be with you the moment I’m finished here.”

“You made the honeycakes?”

“I thought you might appreciate something familiar. And I find baking a highly interesting activity – certainly it’s excellent to lower stress levels.”

Theon doesn’t bother asking what he means with _stress level_ and sits down at the table instead.

Twenty minutes later, he has polished half of the food and he thinks he can still eat. And the honeycakes are delicious.

“You’re – you’re good at this,” he says as he grabs his third and bites down on it.

“Why, thank you. See, at least someone really appreciates my efforts instead of thinking that it’s exotic food. I should tell those two idiots when we catch up.”

“Catch up?”

“Oh, it means that when they come back from their vacation and I come back from mine we tell each other what happened while we weren’t together. That’s a weird speech pattern, but at least it gets concepts across without wasting breath. Anyway, I’m done here, so I guess it’s time we discuss what to do now. Don’t stop eating on my account, please.”

Theon swallows his piece of honeycake and gives him a nod.

“So,” Castiel says as he sits down, “I think that the mandatory issue, here, is trying to restore your reputation. As stated, I think that your… fuck-ups, let’s put it like that, were mainly caused by bad luck and completely understandable issues, but the consequences were bad nonetheless. Now, I wouldn’t worry about fandom – if they hate you, they’ll always find reasons, whatever you do.”

“Right. So what do you suggest? I can’t exactly go back in time and put it right, as much as I want to.”

“Actually, I could make you do that, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. Time travel is a fickle thing, and if you get something wrong then you have to deal with catastrophes later. If I have to interfere, I’d rather do it from the point I got there.”

Theon swallows another piece of honeycake – he isn’t that hungry anymore, but he knows he needs it.

“And how would you interfere?”

“Well, that’s to be seen. Now, be sincere with me. What’s the thing you regret most?”

At least that was the easy question. “Betraying Robb. As if I wanted to do it. Maybe if I hadn’t done it he’d still be alive.”

He shudders at the thought. He should have died with him – what was he ever thinking when he decided that he could impress his father in _any_ way?

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Castiel says regretfully, interrupting his train of thought.

“What?”

“Making you feel even worse about it. Well, for this exceptional occasion, you can have this.”

And then the cloak-like beige thing appears right on him. It’s weird – it’s not a cloak, but it’s not a tunic either, and the lacing is strange, but – it’s kind of nice. It’s worn out, so the cloth is soft, and it’s also kind of warm, which isn’t hurting at all right now.

“See? That tends you to make you feel a bit better. So, we were saying – right. You think that he died because of you?”

“Well, if I hadn’t pretended to kill his brothers maybe he’d have never bedded his wife, and – you know.”

“You know that it doesn’t make you responsible for that massacre, right? I mean, I’d say that the responsible ones were the people who actually came up with it rather than you.”

“Still. The pretext was my fault.”

“Right, right, let’s just assume that it is. So that’s the main problem. Sure. Also because if that wedding hadn’t happened, his mother wouldn’t be hanging people left and right.”

“Wait. _What_?”

“Long story. She was resurrected by some weird god’s magic, don’t ask me because I lost count of how many gods exist around three centuries ago, and she’s – well. Half-dead and half-alive, and she’s commanding some brigands and they’re hanging people they deem deserving of it in the Riverlands. I suppose she should also be dealt with.”

Theon isn’t even sure he can process the idea of Lady Stark being like _that_.

But he’s also sure that Castiel isn’t making that up.

He thinks he needs a drink. And then he realizes that he just wished that he could be drunk, which hasn’t happened in months, so well – that’s not too bad, he guesses.

“I suppose we should just take care of the main issue, then. Wait a minute. And please, help yourself to more honeycakes if you want.”

Then Castiel is gone, as usual. Theon manages to eat one before he comes back with another stack of clothes in his hands.

“Here,” he says handing them over, “these should be suited to your world. I guess.”

They are, Theon thinks as he puts them on. It’s a pair of black breeches with laces, a white shirt, another black tunic and a dark cloak without sigils on. The cloth is weird – it’s not entirely cotton or wool – but they work well enough.

“They’re good,” Theon says when he’s done.

“Oh, thankfully that store of Dean’s didn’t just have western clothes.”

“Western?”

“Nothing. A name for an age when people liked to wear blankets. It’s not our business. So, I suppose we shall move to business.”

Theon kind of expects it when Castiel grabs his shoulder. He closes his eyes, that feeling of being turned inside out washing over him all over again, and when he opens his eyes – yes, that’s definitely Westeros. They’re at the same place they were in when they left – he can still see the ruins of the Dreadfort.

The sight just makes him very, very happy.

“So, the thing you want to undo most is your friend’s death?”

Theon shrugs, wishing he didn’t have to answer that question. But he owes Castiel that, at least.

“Yes. I don’t even – well, if I could, I suppose he wouldn’t be that happy to see me, but it would be fine. He’d have all the rights to want me dead, actually.”

“And you’d be fine with it if he decided to kill you?”

“He’d have all the reasons.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “Why, you really aren’t that big on self-esteem, aren’t you? Then again, I’d recognize the type. Right then. Nothing that can’t be done.”

“Nothing – no. You don’t mean that –”

“I didn’t tell you that resurrecting people _is_ , in fact, in my jurisdiction? This one is going to take a while though, but it can definitely be done.”

“It can?”

“Well, having a defiled corpse makes it more complicated, but not impossible. Do you mind waiting a bit again?”

“Uh. No, I don’t –”

“Excellent.”

Then Castiel disappears – what news – and Theon is left there standing and trying to process that information.

He was joking. He must have been joking. There’s no way he meant it.

Then again, Castiel could bring him to another world, turn his hair dark again, he made his hands whole again for fuck’s sake – who says he couldn’t resurrect someone? But still, that’s not – that’s an entirely different thing. And if he could, then Robb would probably kill him on sight, but it’s fine, it really is – after all, if he came back everything would set itself back in place, wouldn’t it? Bran and Rickon would come back from wherever they were hiding, Arya as well, and he’d find everyone else, and it’s not like he’d need him for that. He should just go and do it, really, and –

Castiel reappears in front of him then. He doesn’t even think that it’s been _a while_.

And he has his hand on someone else’s shoulder – someone else who’s wearing gray clothes, and has auburn hair, and blue eyes, and who’s most definitely not dead.

“I took the liberty of giving him a small recap of what went on between now and – well. _Then_. And of what you were up to since the last time you saw each other,” Castiel says, but Theon is barely hearing him. He can’t pay attention, not when Robb’s eyes are fixed on him.

“Well.” Castiel moves back and takes his hand away from Robb’s shoulder. “Don’t be too hard on him. He deserves it, but it did cost me effort to put him back in shape.”

Robb gives Castiel a short, curt nod and then walks up to Theon, stopping inches from him.

“Let me get this straight,” he says, and fuck but Theon had missed his voice. Among the rest. “You gave your father my letter, he proceeded to destroy it and tell you that it wasn’t going to happen, then you had this grand idea of conquering Winterfell to impress him, _then_ you never killed my brothers but it was two commoners and it was because Ramsay Snow giving you not exactly great advice, _then_ you never burned the place down but it was Ramsay Snow. Am I right until now?”

“Uh. Yes. Your –”

“Shut it. So, then it happens that he tortures you and goes as far as cutting your fingers?”

Theon flinches at that. “Yes.”

“Well, I had imagined that part already. Long before he told me.”

“How?”

“His father brought me a piece of your skin before – well. Let’s not get into that. And then you get some – some otherworldly being saving you and the first thing you ask him is that he brings me back to life?”

He shrugs. He needs to keep himself calm. This can’t be happening. And Robb should have at least punched him in the face already. At least.

“I never thought that faking your brothers’ death would have meant – that. If I had known I’d have surrendered long before.”

Robb’s eyes widen slightly and Theon instinctively looks down at his feet. He expects a hit, a blow, a kick to his legs, anything.

“Let me rephrase it. Bringing me back to life was your first priority?”

Theon snorts, still looking down at the ground. “Do you think I had another? Listen, if you want to kill me just do it quickly. I’m not sure I can –”

“You – you – Theon Greyjoy, do you know what you are?”

 _A turncloak? Worthless? A complete waste of time for everyone that has ever known you?_ He can’t think of anything else, and so he keeps his mouth shut.

“You’re the most infuriating, damned idiot that ever lived in Westeros, that’s what you are.”

And then Robb does punch him in the face, but not as hard as he’d have thought. “That was for Winterfell. And for not having thought that maybe if you had come back I wouldn’t have thought you failed that mission.”

“You – you _what_?”

Robb ignores him and takes a deep breath. “And this is because I’m glad to know that when I thought that you could have never killed my brothers, I was right.”

And then Robb’s hands are on his arms and _this can’t be happening but in fact it is and Robb is crushing him against his chest_ and for a moment Theon can’t even _think_. He didn’t expect this, it was the last thing that he thought would happen, and for some long, awkward moments, he doesn’t even attempt to move. 

“You know,” Robb says then, “it takes two people to do this kind of thing.”

And – all right. He can – he raises his hands upwards, touching Robb’s shoulders (warm skin, solid muscles, and he can feel Robb’s heart beating against his chest and this is too perfect to be even real) and when Robb’s fingers squeeze around the small of his back he just loses it.

Completely.

In the following days, he won’t relish remembering the moment when he broke down weeping on Robb’s shoulder repeating all over that he was _sorry_ and that he never wanted things to end that way, while Robb kept on saying that he knew that. But right now, he really can’t care less.

He doesn’t really notice that Castiel is looking at the both of them with a wistful, satisfied small smile on his face and wondering how it would have felt if Dean had done that to him some time before they talked things out in Purgatory, back then.

(Well, that’s water under the bridge now. Since Castiel has learned that it does indeed prevent from doing a lot of stupid things, he’s taken the habit of doing it whenever he can. Dean has learned to deal with it. Not all of them have to be emotionally impaired, says the one who didn’t even know what emotions were before he had to rescue a certain Winchester from Hell.)

He doesn’t even know how long it lasts, but he doesn’t make any effort to move even when he has cried his eyes out so much that he couldn’t go on even if he tried. After the kind of touching he had to go through in the last months, this feels good in ways nothing has ever felt before.

\--

Eventually, he has to move. He’s kind of baffled to notice that Robb’s eyes were a bit red, as well, but for everyone’s sake he doesn’t say anything about it. Not that he thinks he could talk right now.

“That was the single most touching moment I ever witnessed,” Castiel says interrupting the silence, and Theon is almost thankful. Neither of them looks like the person who’d actually talk first after that kind of moment.

“… thank you, I guess?” Robb answers, obviously feeling not exactly comfortable. Theon gets it. He’s been there enough times.

“Why, it’s my pleasure. I should have found out that righting the wrongs in the world was a lot more worthy pursuit than trying to teach your brothers about free will. At least _this_ brings someone a bit of satisfaction. Not that I’m done, but I can’t drag the two of you all over Westeros making you appear and disappear out of thin air. That’s just going to confuse everyone else even further. But to do what I’m thinking about I need more than fifteen minutes. There’s an inn some three miles at the end of this road – you could wait for me there. Well. For me and some other people, if it goes as I hope, but that’s not what you should be concerned about right now.”

“I… suppose that we –” Robb starts – he obviously has understood as much as Theon used to in the beginning.

“Stark, leave it to me. Fine, we’re going to the inn. I trust your ability to right wrong-doings. We’re going to wait for you while we – how did you say it was? Catch up?”

“Sounds excellent. And yes, it’s catch up. What a complicated pattern. But it grows on you, I suppose. Well then, I suppose I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Wait a moment,” Theon says – from the face Castiel had just made, he’s about to leave. He did get that memo. And well – they will see each other, sure, but for how much he never cared for manners, he really can’t be that rude to not even wish him good luck, right?

“Well, good luck getting done whatever it is that you have to get done. And – thank you. It doesn’t even cover a small part of it, but –”

Castiel raises a hand. “Don’t. As stated, it was common decency. But it was my pleasure. And I think that when I drop by again I should bring my Monopoly box.”

Theon snorts out loud. It feels good to do it. “He’d be terrible at that.”

“You never have all the fun if you never have the chance of beating someone who’s too nice to play that game.”

He says it with such a straight face that Theon can’t help laughing out loud again. “Right. Then bring it. And – uh. I just –”

Castiel rolls his eyes visibly. “Why, why do I always end up with the emotionally impaired ones?”

The hug that follows is a lot less unmanly that the one he shared with Robb (thank fuck, he couldn’t have taken two in a row), but it’s obvious that Castiel is holding back strength – for a second, Theon feel literally without breath. But it’s nice. And it lasts the exact amount of time – not too long, not too short.

“The two of you, don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. I would resurrect you both again, but it’s taxing.”

And then he’s gone just like that, all over again.

Not that they have seen the last of him – Theon knows they haven’t.

“Uh, Theon? I think I have a question.”

“About his speech pattern? You have to get used to it. But you get the gist after –”

“No, no. What the fuck is Monopoly?”

Theon spends the next five minutes on his knees laughing until he cries.

It feels pretty damn good, if you ask him.

End.

**Author's Note:**

> Just for completeness, the romantic-movie-substitute opera that they watch after playing Monopoly [this one](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/L'elisir_d'amore).


End file.
